


Speech Therapy

by writingandchocolatemilk



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:31:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sorry, I didn’t know monotone was considered a disability now.”</p>
<p>And it wasn’t, according to the doctor. It was just something to bla, bla, bla take a check here and sit in the waiting room bla, money adjustment options for your parents—Craig, your teachers are having trouble understanding you, you <i>have to</i>.</p>
<p>So, Craig sat in the speech therapist office, brooding. It wasn’t even a speech therapist office—it was in one of those creepy outlet malls that had sprung up outside of town. The store he was currently in also did eye exams.</p>
<p>While he brooded, he also stared at Tweek, who was fidgeting in the chair across from him. </p><p>Up and down the blond’s hand went, into his hair, twirled around, back to his lap, a nervous look back to Craig, back into his hair.
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speech Therapy

“Sorry, I didn’t know monotone was considered a disability now.”

And it wasn’t, according to the doctor. It was just something to bla, bla, bla take a check here and sit in the waiting room bla, money adjustment options for your parents—Craig, your teachers are having trouble understanding you, you _have to_.

So, Craig sat in the speech therapist office, brooding. It wasn’t even a speech therapist office—it was in one of those creepy outlet malls that had sprung up outside of town. The store he was currently in also did eye exams.

While he brooded, he also stared at Tweek, who was fidgeting in the chair across from him. 

Up and down the blond’s hand went, into his hair, twirled around, back to his lap, a nervous look back to Craig, back into his hair. 

Finally, leg jiggling, Tweek spoke, “A-are you here f-for the eye exam? E-eye e-xams?”

“No.”

Tweek’s hand flew to his hair, and he looked ready to curl in on himself. He gave a quick nod, leaning over his knees and allowing his other hands to roam across his scalp. Great, Craig was here with a fuckin’ loony toon.

“Craig Tucker?”

Craig hauled himself into the office. No, he wasn’t going to repeat the words. No, he didn’t feel as though no one could understand him. No, he didn’t just flip you off. No, he wasn’t going to go and make sure his nasal passages weren't blocked off.

It was like God had personally decided to come down and bless Craig; the session was over.

Craig dragged his lanky frame through the office door, shooting another look at Tweek. He made eye contact with Craig and his eye twitched, hand reaching up but stopping at his ear.

“Tweek?”

Craig kicked the office door open, happy when he saw the glass shake. Good, he hoped he broke it. Cheap ass store should fix their fucking cheap ass doors. Similarly, when he kicked the door open to his house, he thought his cheap ass parents should fix the cheap ass wooden door.

A fight with his parents—they had gotten a call. They had paid good money for that appointment, bla, bla, bla, ungrateful little shit, bla, no dinner, bla. Craig stared his father evenly in the face, not as wide but he had finally matched his father’s height.

The next week, Craig watched Tweek drink from a mug. The crazy fucker was still twitching, but he was staring at his mug like it held the secrets to life. Craig stared harder, feeling a smile twitch across his face when Tweek visibly flinched.

Damn, that kid had good peripheral vision.

“Tweek, come on in.”

That fucker stole his appointment time. And so, Craig glared at the empty chair, crumpling the check in his hand. Teachers couldn’t understand him his ass. If they could hear past Wendy’s whiny pitch, they could definitely hear past Craig’s nasally monotone voice.

“Craig?”

No, he wasn’t working with Tweek. He didn’t care that it would lower the cost of his own sessions. Fine, he’ll sit in the corner.

“Alright, Tweek, I want you to try doing the exact same exercise we just did,” the Therapist crooned, smiling from behind her desk. She talked to everyone like they were three, and it pissed Craig off.

“Sh-she s-sells sh—sea s-sells…” Tweek shook his head, and his hand flew into the nest he called hair. “I-I can’t—“ Tweak began to whisper.

“Tweek develops a stutter when he has to talk in front of people he’s not comfortable with,” Mrs. Bitch-Face interrupted, smiling benevolently at Craig. “He’s too comfortable with me.”

Like Craig _asked_.  

“N-Not that I th-think you’re uncom-mm… Uncomforti…” Tweek sucked in a gulp of air. He floundered in silence, eyes darting back and forth between Craig and Mrs. Bitch-Face. “You’re uncoom…” His eyes begged for salvation.

Meanwhile, Craig was watching in morbid curiosity as a sick smile spread across Mrs. Bitch-Face’s face. Her hands came together and she watch Tweek in the calm look that a lion had before it snapped a baby gazelle’s neck. She was missing her canine tooth; Craig thought he saw it stuck in Tweek’s neck.

“Chill,” Craig finally conceded.

Tweek looked half ready to pass out.

The session proceeded. Tweek would do various tongue twisters, standing in front of Mrs. Bitch-Face’s desk like he was in trouble. He would fidget and glance, horrified, at Craig as he hemorrhaged words. Eventually, Craig would tell him to calm the fuck down and just skip to the next fucking word.

And Mrs. Bitch-Face _smiled_.

It seemed like the mythical treemen of the forest graced the small, warm room with their presence when it was announced time was up. Craig didn’t think anyone could run away faster from the speech therapist; Tweek proved him wrong. Craig had only stood from his chair when he saw the blond high tailing it out of there.

The door. The cheap glass. The fight—Craig, you were supposed to be back an hour ago—the room. Craig gazing out his window, watching as a small pile of snow accumulated on his window frame. He looked around and sat up from his bed.

“Hello.”

Was that monotone? How the fuck was he supposed to know? Can you fix a nasally voice?

He cleared his throat. “Hello.”

Stupid fucking speech therapist. Craig strode in with a purpose, pulling the door open as violently as possible and marching over to Tweek. The blond cowered, coffee mug nearly slipping  out of his fingers.

Craig stared down at him. Tweek’s face contorted.

“Hello, Tweek.”

Internally, fucking choirs were singing, Buddha was shoveling chips down his gullet at the buffet table, and a unicorn was prancing around in a black tutu. Externally, Craig continued to stare down at Tweek.

“Hello…”

Progress, little by fucking little.


End file.
